And all the stars would cross us
by UselessWreckage
Summary: After pulling a rather stupid trick, Merlin is banished from Cenred's kingdom, Essetir, and runs to the place that is perhaps the least safe for a Dragonlord's son - Camelot. There, he finds destiny waiting for him. (Merthur)
1. The King of Rotten Vegetables

It didn't take Merlin very long to realise he was in big, big trouble. It had started out innocently enough, a childish prank with the discarded vegetables of the market, that he and Will could easily pull off as a tribute to their many mischievous collaborations when they were children. But when one has suspended half-rotten produce over a gateway to rain over the next passer-by, and the next passer-by happens to be the king and his guards, things are not going to turn out very well. Will was probably going to get away with it, he did not live within the city, but in an outlying village by the name of Ealdor, the place where Merlin was born. There, he would easily be blamed for any kind of trouble, whether he was involved or not - and he usually was. In the actual capital of Essetir, though, he was an anonymous nobody. The same could not be said for Merlin, who had lived there for most of his life and was well known as the Dragonlord's son. Of course, he was also an exceptionally skilled magician in his own right, but few knew that. Magic was not outlawed in Essetir, unlike other kingdoms - especially Camelot to the south, where the king not only punished but burned sorcerers on a daily basis - but it was generally a place where you made sure to keep your head down as much as possible. Pelting king Cenred with stinking cabbages from above was just about the opposite of that - not only the opposite of keeping your head _down_, but quite possibly the opposite of keeping it _on_.

They got out of there quite quickly, darting off at great speed. Merlin was sure someone had seen him, though, they had been sneaking around the crowded market for a good while, and the vegetables had been held up by magic. Surely someone would put two and two together and end up with four; or in this case, Merlin. After darting through alleyways and streets, they finally both came to a halt behind a derelict mill by the river. They were both heaving for breath. Will was giggling uncontrollably - he had not recognised Cenred and still believed that the prank had gone exactly to plan. Merlin scowled at him. He was his best friend, but right now he was very irritated with him. He failed to grasp the seriousness of the situation, and he was likely to avoid trouble, which was jarring as the whole thing had been his idea. Well, that wasn't really much of an excuse. Merlin had gone along with it, even planned most of it, and at the age of eighteen he really should have gotten over the urge to pull tricks like these. He knew Will had probably matured also, but they had a dangerous effect on each other, resulting in disasters like this.

Will's laughter brought him out of his distressing thoughts.

"Oh, that was a laugh! I'm twelve years old again I swear! Did you see the look on his - I've missed something, haven't I."

Merlin's face made it quite clear that their actions were no laughing matter anymore.

"That man with the hilarious look of rage on his face was King Cenred. Unusually violent and proud man. Unusually likely to cut off hands and ears of children who are out of line. As for adults… Well, let's just say if anyone noticed who the culprits were, you had better get your arse back to Ealdor post haste."

"…And you?"

Merlin shook his head.

"I don't know. I'd have to get away too, I guess."

They were of a more serious mood as they made their way back to Merlin's parents' home. He dreaded the looks in their eyes, he realised, more than whatever consequence awaited him for his actions. The moment the door opened, Hunith's voice sounded.

"Finally! Where have you two - "

Seeing their faces as she turned around, she got up from her seat by the table and walked over to them with hurried steps.

"What's wrong?" she asked sternly.

They got an earful from both of Merlin's parents. Hunith was on the verge of tears several times, and Balinor utilised a stern, disappointed look that he had perfected to inspire the most exquisite guilt in his son's gut. It was agreed, not that the boys had any say in the matter having proved themselves so much younger than their age, that William's visit should be cut short, and he would return to Ealdor in the morning. They would send with him a letter to his mother explaining his actions and expecting her to punish him as she saw fit. As for Merlin, his punishment would be decided in the morning.

He didn't sleep that night. He had a feeling that Will, lying a few feet away, was awake as well, but neither of them spoke. He could just kick himself for getting into this mess. He knew the difficulty his family would always have, wherever they lived, and if his actions proved to send them away from the city of Essetir, he would never forgive himself. Where could they go? To the druids? They had always been friends of the Dragonlords, true, and would likely take them in, but they were hard to find and always on the move, hunted in all the kingdoms of Albion. And his parents had settled into such a good life here, Hunith as a seamstress and Balinor as an assistant to the blacksmith. He hoped with all his heart that if he had been seen and punishment from authority higher than parental should come along, it would be only him that was targeted.

That was a wish that was granted, but rather sooner than he had expected. He felt as if he had just drifted off into an uneasy dream when he was shaken awake by Hunith's hand. Gone from her face was the anger and disappointment, replaced with fear and urgency.

"You must leave now, both of you. They are coming."

they needed no ore words, having both lain awake conjuring dreaded scenarios like this in their heads most of the night. Will's few possessions were already packed in preparation for him to leave. Merlin gathered together a bundle of necessities. A change of clothes, a couple of apples from the pantry. Hunith whisperingly instructed him all the while.

"When you get to Ealdor, you can stay there for no more than a day. Cenred has a temper, and if you've offended him, he'll be looking for you, and too many know where we came from. You must continue to into the kingdom of Camelot, and from there to the city itself. I've an old friend there who I am sure would take you in for just the while it takes for this to blow over."

Merlin's eyes widened in fear.

"_Camelot_?"

"I know, my love, be careful. But it's the only place you can go on such short notice. Do not mention your magic to anyone, and do not speak of your father." she handed him a folded up piece of paper she had been writing on earlier.

"Find Gaius, the court physician, and hand him this letter. He is the only one you can trust."

There were so many more things to ask, but there was so little time. The boys were ushered around the back of the house, where Hunith hugged them both. Balinor took his son by the shoulders.

"I would have thought you had learned to be careful, Merlin," he said, with great sadness, "Especially with that incident with the cobbler's well not a fortnight passed."

"That was an accident," Merlin meekly pointed out.

"I know, son. I know. But you cannot afford any accidents like that in Camelot. One slip-up, and king Uther will have your head. They say he is a fairer king than Cenred, and I suppose I am inclined to agree, but when it comes to magic of any kind, he sees no reason."

Merlin nodded. His father knew better than most of king Uther's blind rage and of his treachery, as it had nearly gotten him killed many years ago.

Balinor hugged Merlin tightly.

"Take care of yourself, boy," he said, "If the fates are willing, it will not be too long until we meet again."

Merlin felt a lump in his throat as he and William set off, careful to move in the shadows of the houses. Soon, the building that had been his home for half a dozen years was out of sight, and he had no idea how long it would be before he would see it again, if ever.

When the soldiers came to the Dragonlord's residence, Hunith and Balinor informed them that their son had not come home that evening, and that they were worried of where he and his friend had gotten to. When they were informed of their personal crimes against the king, they acted shocked and appalled enough for the soldiers to pardon them as not to blame for the filial disobedience, but they were sternly informed to consider Merlin a son to them no more, as he was now a fugitive. When they were gone, Hunith collapsed into her husband's arms and sobbed. He ran his hand through her hair and shushed her comfortingly, though he himself was just as broken up, his cheeks glistening.

"Gaius will take him in," he reassured her, "He has helped many over the years, and he'll be glad of an assistant for a few months."

_Or years,_ his mind suggested, but he did not want to think of that possibility.

"And think of how Merlin will enjoy all of his old books, if they have not been burned. Perhaps this could be good for him, he'll learn some things and come home more mature. In a few months, out child will be home with us, you'll see."

In his mind, he was far from confident, though. If Cenred would put a price on the head of a boy, hardly more than a child, for a joke of this insignificance, then he was also unlikely to relent unless he realised the folly of his ways, which was not likely. But he would hold out hope for as long as he could, and if Merlin could not return to them, then he would find a way to take action. All was not lost.


	2. Camelot

Merlin and William walked through the night in sombre silence. As dawn came, they were both tired, but continued all the same. Whenever travellers passed, they'd avert their glances. They probably weren't in much danger out here, but they couldn't be sure. It was nearing midday and they had stopped at a stream of clear water to refresh their thirst, when Will decided to break the silence.

"So this punter that was hit by our stray cabbages," he began, "That's the king? That's the man who killed my father?"

"King Cenred, that'd be the one," Merlin answered gloomily. Technically, Cenred hadn't murdered Will's father, but it was the king's inefficient battle decisions that had lead him, as well as many others, to their doom. Will was not forgiving.

"Had I known that, I'd have pelted him with something a lot sharper than vegetables."

"You don't _have_ anything sharp, Will. And besides, look how much trouble we are in just for a simple vegetable prank! If we made an assassination attempt, where would we be?"

"That's just it, though, isn't it? We'd be right here, on the run, all the same. It wouldn't have made a difference, and it would have been a damn sight more satisfying."

They kept the chat going throughout the day, but strayed from the serious topic of their situation. Merlin found that it helped, it kept his mind off the dread of having to run to a strange and dangerous place, and live apart from his family for the first time he could remember. He envied Will the opportunity to go home.

When night fell, they were exhausted, and went to sleep between the roots of a large tree by the edge of the road, out of sight from night travellers, who were usually not people you would like to have upon you in your sleep. They reached Ealdor by next midday. Merlin was glad to see the village. This was where Balinor had hid after King Uther tricked him into trapping the dragon Kilgharrah in the caves under Camelot, and he narrowly escaped with his life through the help of a friend. That would be Gaius, Merlin assumed, the physician Hunith had bid him seek out when he reached the city. Balinor had stayed in Ealdor with Hunith and her elderly mother, who had died only a month before Merlin was born. The plan had been for Balinor to rest in the village until he regained his strength and could run further into the forests of Essetir, but when they had discovered that Hunith was with child, he had stayed, keeping his head down as the Ealdor was close to the border of Uther's kingdom. These were mere stories in Merlin's mind, but ones he had been told many times in his childhood. It had been a good place to grow up, and he had missed it since he was there last. Even though it had been years now since the rumours of the last Dragonlord's location had become too widespread for comfort, and the little family had trekked to the city, Ealdor was his true home. He only wished that he was visiting for fun, that he had come to see Will and the others just because he had wanted to and not because he was going into hiding.

Will's mother was not best pleased when receiving the news. She scolded Will quite heavily and gave him a clap around the ear. Merlin could see that his friend's eyes were wetting, but he did not go so far as to shed the tears. The raging mother let Merlin be, assuming his exile was punishment enough. He ate dinner with William and his mother, and stayed there for the night. The next morning, he set off on his own for the city of Camelot, wishing that he could stay.

His heart was heavy, but he tried to cheer himself up. There was nothing to be done about the situation; he was not going to see his parents again in a very long time. Thinking about it and getting himself down was not going to help matters, so he decided to try and stay positive. The king would probably forget his rage in a few months' time - why would he remember a silly prank like that, even if he was embarrassed by it? And in the meantime, Merlin was out on an adventure. It was dangerous, yes, but danger could be thrilling and exciting like in the old tales, right? Well, Merlin was not the kind to seek out danger and excitement, in fact he stayed neatly out of trouble when he was by himself. It took an inventive friend like William to lead him astray. But it as probably a great idea to do something he usually wouldn't do - at least he might learn something.

_That _might_ happen, also, the king _might_ discover my magic and have my head chopped off,_ his stubbornly pessimistic thoughts pointed out.

The landscape of his emotions kept swaying up and down, even as the real road he was travelling was fairly safe and easy to follow. Soon, he saw the city walls in the distance.

It was very impressive. The castle was a lot bigger than King Cenred's, and the red banners in the wind looked nothing short of beautiful. The weather was exquisite as well, and the sunshine really became the city. The walls were imposing, and he was glad he was not a part of an army that would have to storm them, but could just walk through the main gates which were open, but guarded by serious looking men bearing red tunics with golden dragons embroidered on them. The image made Merlin smile; dragons were in a way his kinsmen, even if he'd never seen one. It occurred to him then that there was indeed a dragon in Camelot. He wondered why he had not thought of it like that before. If he was looking for an incentive to view this trip as an opportunity rather than unadulterated punishment, then surely that was it - he was now entering the city where Kilgharrah lived, trapped many years ago by Merlin's own father, deep in the caves beneath the very castle that he now saw before him. Was it possible that he could go exploring those caves? Surely they must be well guarded, but with his magic…

He shook his head to dispel the idea immediately. No magic. He couldn't use it here; it was too dangerous. He was in enough trouble already. Looking around him, it was clear that Camelot was, in general, a much happier and benign kingdom than Essetir. It had many charms, and had it not been for the absence of the two things Merlin cared most for, namely his family and his magic, he felt he might have actually loved it there.

Truth to be told, part of him already did. He couldn't explain it, was it the nice weather that had cheered him up, or the reminder of the dragon, perhaps? Something in him just felt right, at peace, as if he were finally in the right place. He felt almost as at home in Camelot as he did when entering Ealdor, and he had only been roaming this city for less than an hour. He decided that this initial infatuation probably wouldn't last, but he should hold on to its promise for as long as he could. It was with a bright smile that he asked his way to the court physician's chambers, which he realised, with a chill lying between excitement and fear, were within the castle itself. So close to the place where the king resided. That the villain of all the stories from his childhood could be the ruler of such a wondrous place as Camelot seemed rather odd to Merlin, but there had to be a downside to any place. As he approached the castle, a pair of children, around five years old, ran by, waving toy swords at each other. Merlin mused that in the tales the king's children grew up with, if he even had any, perhaps it was Balinor who was portrayed as the villain. It saddened rather than enraged him that these friendly looking people whom he saw all around him should hate his father, and hate him, too, simply for what they were.

When he dared look a guard in the eye and humbly ask the way to Gaius's chambers, his heart was pounding in his chest. Here was a strong, armed servant of Camelot standing before him, looking straight at him. If he'd known who he were, he would have been arrested. He had heard tales of the frequent beheadings, even burnings, of magicians who were exposed in Uther's lands. Perhaps first, though, he would have been held hostage to draw Balinor out of hiding, to let the king finally live with the satisfaction that he had eradicated all the Dragonlords. But of course, the guard knew nothing of Merlin's powers, nor his heritage. And he actually smiled at the polite, thin looking boy, evidently new and of rural origins - for however long Merlin had lived in the shadows of Cenred's castle, he had remained a farm boy by heart - and cheerfully told him where to go right and where to go left in order to end up in the right place. Merlin thanked him profusely and continued on his way.

What happened when he entered the court physician's rooms was pure instinct. Gaius's fall, the immediate rearrangement of the furniture of the room so the man would fall softly and his old body wouldn't break. Over in a flash and then the cold realisation of what he had done as the old man got up and yelled at him for his carelessness. He wished to all gods he would keep his voice down.

"Have you any _idea_ how dangerous that was? How on Earth did you _do_ it?"

"I just did," Merlin mumbled in embarrassment. This was not going at all according to plan, but it seemed the physician was done reprimanding the strange boy, and the anger gave way to suspicious curiosity.

"Who are you, anyway? Your face looks vaguely familiar, though I think I would know… Someone like you," he said, obviously meaning he would be aware of it if someone with Merlin's powers lived anywhere nearby. Merlin was well aware that his gifts were extraordinary.

"I'm Hunith's son," he explained, remembering his mother's plea not to mention the name of his father within the walls of Camelot, "I have a letter for you."

Gaius regarded him intently for a moment, and Merlin felt as if his soul was being inspected by the physician's keen eye. Obviously he knew the implications of his parentage, and coupled with the unintended display of Merlin's powers, he must be aware of just how inappropriate a place Camelot was for him. He then focused his attention on the letter, and there was a tense silence as he read through it. Finally, he folded the paper with a pensive "Hm," and looked at Merlin again.

"Your mother mentions your extraordinary skills," he said, "And how they've landed you in trouble. I trust you are aware that here, you have to be even more careful not to show them."

Merlin nodded, staring at the floor.

"Do you know anything about herbs, boy?"

"A little." he still remembered some of the things Hunith had taught him when he was younger, and would come with her on herb collections in the forest, but he would hardly consider himself an expert.

"Well, you can learn, I suppose. I have been considering the possibility of looking for an apprentice. It seems the fates have sent me one before I got around to searching."

He gave Merlin an encouraging pat on the back.

"There is a room up those stairs that's been empty for years. You can have it. I'll get you some water so you can refresh after your journey."

"Thank you, Gaius," Merlin said earnestly, and scurried off in the direction he had been pointed to.

Before fetching the water, Gaius watched the young man disappear behind the door, and stood silent for a moment, thinking. He had to admit he was very intrigued by this meeting. Merlin was a rare breed indeed - a Dragonlord's son for one thing, destined to become one himself one day, and the kind of inherent magical talent he had displayed was something he had never seen the equal of. He had known Balinor, and though the man had great abilities, he doubted he would have been able to teach a boy of that age to move large objects at such a speed without spoken incantation, and without books for reference in his learning. The boy's recklessness worried him, though - it was true folly that had sent Merlin to Camelot, and if Gaius was not able to impress on him the value of prudence, the world might lose a great talent all too soon.


	3. Dragon and Destiny

Merlin's stay in Camelot soon took a few rather unexpected turns. He did indeed get to find Kilgharrah, when the dragon's voice called to him at night, seemingly inside his own head. His father had mentioned to him at some point that the druids communicated like that, but Merlin had never had the honour of meeting the druids. He had never experienced it first hand. He supposed, technically, he must descend from the druids through Balinor's blood, as the Dragonlords had been counted almost as druid royalty once upon a time, when dragons were many and magic was rife in the land. But that was generations upon generations ago. Druid communication was alien to Merlin, and it was only here, in Camelot, that he stood to meet a dragon. And the meeting was daunting. Kilgharrah was bigger than a house, dark as the night, or as the cave around him, but with eyes that blazed with the fire Merlin knew he could produce at any moment.

He also knew that the dragon could not be fully trusted, and there had been good reasons for Balinor to capture him, even though the deal with Uther turned things rather more sour than they needed have been. He also knew that if Kilgharrah should choose to use his fire on him, he would have no way to protect himself. But it seemed the dragon was not likely to kill Merlin. In fact, he had plans for the boy, speaking at length about his destiny in ways that the young magician had difficulty believing. Well, on certain levels. He had always known that his magic was far greater than anyone Balinor had ever heard of, though his parents had taught him to be humble all the same. But Kilgharrah spoke of Uther's son, and Merlin greatly opposed the idea that he was to be the prince's protector. Protect the blood of a man that had hunted down his kin, that had sent his father into exile and nearly killed him, that had forced his family to live in fear in Cenred's land, because even that was safer than being a magic user in Camelot? Protect the offspring of this fairy tale villain, whom he had by now witnessed give the order for an axe to fall on necks innocent of anything but spells, mere healing spells, even, and who gave such orders with a calm face, a cold heart and no remorse whatsoever?

But though these concerns riled him and were legitimate arguments from his side, he knew somehow that the dragon did not tell him lies of his destiny. Dragons were capable of deceit, Balinor had taught him that much, but they rarely told an outright lie. And if he were completely honest, he had known even before he entered the dragon's cave, though he might not have been consciously aware of it. For in the short days that had passed between his arrival in Camelot and his encounter with Kilgharrah, he had already managed to meet Arthur Pendragon. And that first meeting was perhaps more jolting to his mind than the subsequent chat with the dragon.

First of all, Arthur was an obnoxious prat who needed to be put in is place. In hindsight, Merlin could agree that it probably was not the best idea for a fugitive hiding under a secret identity to be the one who put him there. Especially since he had no way of challenging Arthur without his powers readily available. But in his own defence, he hadn't known of Arthur's royal position when he met him. All he had seen was an evidently wealthy young man, not many years his elder, who was treating a poor servant very badly. He spoke up before he remembered that he could in fact do nothing to defend himself, much less anyone else, without risking death.

"Come on, that's enough."

And from there, it had basically gone downhill, but he had felt something undefinable the moment Arthur's eyes met his, some significance that he was unable to define.

His arrest for daring to cross prince Arthur, and subsequent night in the dungeons, did nothing to still Gaius's fear that the young warlock might be too reckless to be of much good to anyone. He was genuinely sorry when he saw what upset it had caused the old man, who he had quickly grown to like. Alas, his reluctance to anger or worry Gaius did not keep him from running into Arthur anew. "There's something about you, Merlin," the prince had said. Well, there was "something" about Arthur, too. It was not his royal authority - that wouldn't have sparked anything but suspicion from one whose father was an enemy of the king, and he had felt this something before he learned of Arthur's title. No, the way his attention was drawn to Arthur was deep and subconscious, and it made perfect sense to have the word "destiny" title the concept in his mind. It was the only thing it could have been - he had met the prince and knew he had no reason to feel anything but dislike for him, yet he also felt drawn to him, and why should that be, if it were not because he was foretold to aid Arthur's quest, and change his irritating ways?

As the dragon took off into the caves and Merlin returned to the small room he slept in by Gaius's chambers, the boy swore bitterly and muttered denials of the destiny he had been given, but in his heart he had already accepted it. He kept an eye out for Arthur, and before the week was out, he had already performed part of his role as protector.

The feast was impressive, and Merlin was fairly certain he'd never seen so much food in one place before. The sights and smells made his mouth water. Knowing he would not be allowed to partake in the delicacies, he envied, for a moment, the servants who ran to and fro and had direct access to the kitchens - at least they would be able, presumably, to nick a few scraps. If he'd remembered that thought later on, he would have glumly realised he should be careful what he wished for. A physician's assistant acted mainly as a servant on these kinds of events, but not much was required of Merlin. Gaius didn't require extra tending, having gotten on very well through the years without ever having an assistant, but he had requested Merlin to come along and observe and perhaps make some acquaintances. He didn't mind too much - in a setting such as this, Arthur hardly posed a threat, and not long after arriving he ran into Gwen, a serving girl whom he rather liked. Apart from Gaius, she was the closest thing to a friend he had made in Camelot so far. They chatted amiably, and he was glad to have her. The night was splendid, but fairly uneventful until the moment a guest of the king decided to throw a knife at the prince's heart. Merlin, standing nearby, flung himself to Arthur's side and dragged him down, out of harm's way.

This heroic deed saw him rewarded with the position as Arthur's manservant. From a tactical point of view, it couldn't have been better. From the point of view of his personal comfort, it pretty much couldn't have been worse. Merlin was no manservant; he could barely keep his own few belongings tidy, and Gaius had already taken to scolding him just as frequently as Hunith had. _Manservant to prince Arthur._ As he lay on his cot waiting for sleep to take him after a very confusing evening to conclude a very confusing week, he wondered briefly what his father would say when he learned of it. He would be worried, perhaps, that Merlin would suffer at the hands of the Pendragons as he had, or outraged that he would serve them, or, quite possibly, he would first and foremost see the irony of it all. Merlin fell asleep with a smile on his face, an imagined echo of Balinor's laughter ringing in his head.


	4. The Difficult Servant

Arthur could definitely say with a great degree of certainty that his new manservant was not very good at his job. In fact, Merlin was probably the worst servant he had ever encountered. He didn't seem to like the job very much, either - part of that was Arthur's fault, he was aware of that, but he'd be damned if he was going to make it easy for the boy. If he wanted to quit, he could quit, Arthur was not going to stop him. But he was quite sure he was never going to fire him, either. He was still not sure what it was, but he enjoyed Merlin's company. He found his insolence amusing. He was a breath of fresh air, someone who stood up to him and quibbled with him and disobeyed, even if he couldn't possibly match Arthur. It was like a puppy picking a fight with a wolf.

_"I could take you apart with less than that." _

That was genuinely what Merlin had said. Just remembering it still made Arthur laugh. What a ridiculous person he was. It was true, he had gotten close to besting Arthur in the fight that followed, but that was mainly because Arthur had found himself with inexplicably rotten luck. It was as if his attention to his surroundings was completely off-key, he tangled his mace, he stumbled and he stubbed his toes. He had ended up looking quite the fool before he'd gotten himself together and beat Merlin over the head with a broom. A broom! What a way to win a fight.

And now his adversary was in his employ, his to taunt and torture as he wished. And he did, he worked him deliberately hard, he called him names, made fun of him. But it was never _mean_, he told himself. He didn't feel like he would have caused Merlin to run crying home to his mother. And anyway, well, if he was a bad employer, Merlin could simply quit. Arthur was hoping he wouldn't. It wouldn't feel like a victory to _break_ the other boy, that wasn't what he wanted. Merlin was a challenge. He sometimes even made Arthur feel ashamed when his behaviour towards him was especially rude. Princes, Arthur was convinced, were not usually ashamed to be rude to servants. Perhaps they should be? Merlin certainly seemed to think so. It was rare for Arthur to meet someone who didn't either adore him without question and follow his every lead, despise him for no discernible reason, or grovel and shrink away with fear. Those three were people's general reactions to knowing a prince. Merlin treated him no differently, he was sure, than he would anyone else. He treated him like an equal, and maybe that was why Arthur felt so strongly that he needed to somehow conquer his new servant. He wanted to win him over, to gain power over him that was not based purely on station or physical force. Having tried those two already, he suspected it would take something else to win Merlin's allegiance.

He was uncertain about what the reason was for this… Obsession, almost, with controlling Merlin. Perhaps it was merely because, at present, he felt he _couldn't_ control him at all. He was reminded of the ceremonies when his father had pardoned traitors. Not that that happened often; forgiveness was not Uther's strongest point. But once or twice, Arthur had been present as some knight or other had begged forgiveness for their sins, and knelt in front of king Uther, who granted them that forgiveness provided they pledge their allegiance back to him, and kissed the ring on his finger to symbolise their renewed obedience. He imagined that feeling to be the most empowering feeling of all - to win someone over who had previously rebelled, to see someone strong and independent kneel and pledge allegiance. The fantasy had a hint of megalomania to it, yes, but when was megalomania justified if not in the heart of the prince of Camelot?

What Arthur didn't know, of course, was how hard Merlin was already working to keep him alive and Camelot safe. A month or so in Arthur's service and he had begun to wonder how the kingdom had survived this long without him. Kilgharrah seemed to think that it was obvious that he should arrive just before the amount of threats picked up - the right person in the right place at the right time, that was, after all, how destiny tended to work. Merlin found the dragon to be almost as frustrating as he was fascinating. He wished frequently that Balinor were there to guide him, to translate the cryptic messages that Kilgharrah generously called "help", and to provide tips and tricks on how to deal with him. All he had learned about dragons had been scattered theory; the powers of the Dragonlord were not passed on to the son until the death of the father, and since Balinor was in no hurry to die, none of the family had been in any hurry to train Merlin, either. And there was only so much one could learn without a real dragon present, anyway. How typical of life, really, that Merlin should have at his disposal first a Dragonlord, but no dragon, now a dragon, but no Dragonlord. He wondered whether there was some way he could write his parents without arousing suspicion. Aside from Balinor's magical advice, he missed Hunith's encouragement, and both their love. Of course, Gaius, whom he had grown very close to, provided plenty of all three, acting as his tutor and guardian, but he had never been away from his parents for this long before, and he was beginning to feel the pain of it.

"Gaius?" he asked one day, "You must surely letters to my parents from time to time?"

"They are old friends, so it does happen," the old physician answered, not looking up from the concoction he was working on, "And now that I am housing their child, I feel obliged to keep them updated on you."

"Would you mind sending letters from me together with those letters? I should like to write to them myself, and then maybe I'd hear from them in return."

Gaius turned to him.

"Of course I wouldn't mind," he said warmly, "I'm frankly quite surprised you haven't asked before."

He didn't mention that though he'd written Hunith every week, he had only once received a reply, a short note with sincere thanks for the updates on Merlin and assurances that his mother and father dearly cherished hearing about him. There was no message for the boy directly, and Gaius had a feeling things had been rather hectic for Hunith and Balinor since their son had been forced away from them. They were not the kind of people who would neglect their son, so something grave must be going on when they had no time to write him. But he would not worry the boy unless he had to, he had enough on his plate as it was.

"Whenever you have a letter for them, just give it to me and I'll see that they get it."

Merlin gave him one of his broad, bright smiles.

"Thanks, Gaius."

This was not the only conversation Merlin had had about family in the last few days. On one occasion, he had very nearly dropped a handheld mirror to the floor in Arthur's chambers, and gotten an unusually violent reprimand from his master. Setting it down after several hits on the head, subdued and very annoyed, he'd commented,

"All right, all right, calm down, I didn't actually drop it."

Arthur merely grumbled in reply.

"It's just a mirror anyway, you have plenty of those." he would, of course, have added a slightly more explicit allusion to Arthur's vanity if he hadn't been wary of the possibility that he might get hit over the head again. But Arthur had just fallen oddly quiet, before quietly explaining,

"It was my mother's."

That had made Merlin's heart sink, and he immediately felt guilty for not handling it with more care. But he hadn't known its significance.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't know."

"It's all right," Arthur said, waving a hand, shutting himself up again the way he tended to when things threatened to get emotional. He was very guarded when it came to what was in his heart.

"It can't have been easy," Merlin said, regardless, "Growing up without a mother."

It probably didn't help that Uther had been the one to take care of Arthur, and from what Merlin had seen, he was not the best of parents. He didn't mention this, of course, Arthur was insanely defensive when it came to his father's many inadequacies.

"I suppose not," Arthur remarked, sounding more casual than surely he must be feeling, "I've never had one, so I don't have much to compare it to."

"It's strange. I can't imagine it myself; I was always so close to my mum." Merlin carefully straightened the mirror's position on the bedsit while he spoke.

"And you're not anymore?"

Merlin tensed. He damned himself for forgetting so easily that Arthur was the prince. Not that he gave a rat's arse about praising royalty, he had long since found out that he could get away with both ridicule and familiarity in Arthur's presence. But being Uther's son, there were some topics that he had to be extra careful about around him; his past and his family quite obviously chief among them.

"Well," he answered tentatively, "I live here in Camelot now, don't I, so my parents are miles and miles away. I can't exactly speak to them every day like I used to."

Arthur cocked his head to the side and looked pensively at Merlin, who continued dusting the surfaces sloppily, as he had done when the debacle with the mirror occurred. He should have taken a lesson to be more careful, but Arthur couldn't see much of a change in his tactics. He'd never really thought much about Merlin's family, or where he was from. In his mind, he had just appeared one day and upset his world a little bit, in an increasingly welcome way.

"Where are they, then, that's so far away?"

Merlin thought quickly.

"I grew up in a village called Ealdor," he answered, "It's about a day's ride from here, just over the border in Cenred's kingdom."

It wasn't a direct lie, but a complete non-sequitur. He hoped Arthur would just assume that meant his parents still lived there, since that was what Merlin had tried to imply.

"So you weren't really one of our subjects before, then?"

A small, hopefully unnoticeable sigh of relief. Merlin just hoped that Cenred's name being mentioned would cause him no harm, but then again, the king of Essetir was no friend of Camelot, so why would they be aware of his enemies? Especially one hunted for such a minor and foolish crime.

"Well, I am now," he simply replied.

Arthur scoffed.

"Indeed you are. And you're supposed to be getting your prince ready for a feast."

Merlin put the duster aside and made to ready a selection of Arthur's finer clothes, but not without a roll of the eyes that he made sure was visible.


	5. Saving Home

William hadn't been very fond of the idea that his mother would travel to Camelot to ask for help. First off, begging any king for anything was not something he would willingly concede to, and their request for Cenred's assistance had proved that he was right. Second, he would much rather have gone himself - he figured it was safer for him, a man now, in spite of all his childish tricks, to brave the road. His mother had never been the toughest of women. But Sigrun had laughed him off and said that she could take care of herself. Will was needed in Ealdor, in case Kanen and his men came back again. She knew the reasons for his wish to go to Camelot, and also knew it had in part to do with wanting to see his old friend Merlin, but this was hardly the time to make social calls. If king Uther decided to send help, then maybe Merlin would be among those who came to the village, and the two friends could reunite there. He was the only acquaintance she had in the city, and he was the one she would go to first. Mind you, last time those boys had gotten together, the result had been rather unfortunate - perhaps another reason why it was best to keep their interactions close to her own home, where she could keep an eye on them.

Merlin felt like someone had drenched him in a bucket of cold water when Will's mother appeared in the lower town. Arthur was in meetings all day, so he had the afternoon off to help Gaius on his rounds. He had only just delivered old Viola her tincture when he saw the familiar, if a bit drawn face from his childhood in between those of the Camelot inhabitants.

"Sigrun!" he exclaimed, and was at her side immediately; the woman looked ready to collapse. She steadied herself on his shoulder, and said reassured him brusquely,

"I am fine, thank you very much, Merlin. I was told I'd find you here."

"Come with me," he said, still worried about her fatigue. She looked as if she had been walking all the way from Ealdor without stop, and if that was the case, something serious must have happened. He tried not to let his mind imagine too many scenarios - had something happened to Will? If it had… For now, though, the priority was taking care of Sigrun. He lead her towards Gaius's chamber, supporting her steadily all the way. When they got there, the physician's immediate action was to prepare a tonic, before any questions could be asked.

"Thank you," she said gratefully as he gave it to her. After she had sipped at it and regained her breath, she had the strength to explain her presence in Camelot.

Merlin was relieved that Will wasn't hurt, but the relief was very short lived as he realised that not only his best friend, but the entire village that he still considered his home was under threat from that tyrant Kanen. That Cenred would not help rid them of this self-made lord was no surprise to him - the king of Essetir helped no-one but himself. He was unsure whether Uther would be of any more use to the people of Ealdor, though. The village was not within his borders, and though he seemed to be a better king than the one over the border, he was harsh and irrational at times. There was no way to predict when he would be amiable, hostile, or just dismissive. Regardless, he promised Sigrun that he would pull the strings available to him - quite powerful ones came with being the prince's personal manservant - and get her an audience with Uther.

The audience did not bring the desired result. As Uther announced his pity for the villagers and his regret that he could not come to their aid without the risk of war, Merlin found Arthur's eyes searching for his. The prince's face expressed a wordless apology. He knew that the place in question was Merlin's home. Though the two were still not exactly friends, their relationship had by now solidified into an undefinable, but unshakable bond. They acted as vitriolic as ever, but they had both proven that they would each risk their life for the other without a second thought. Merlin had contemplated the possibility that it was his destiny to die to save Arthur. If the future the prince was fated to bring was the one Kilgharrah had foretold, then he would accept his lot and be grateful for it. Arthur's willingness to risk his life to save a lowly servant, he supposed, was an indication that his git of an employer might actually become a king worth dying _for_.

Arthur verbally expressed his sympathies later on, in the privacy of his chambers as Merlin folded up his newly washed clothes.

"I am sorry about your village, Merlin."

"Thank you for doing what you could," the servant answered sincerely. The fact that the audience had occurred at all was Arthur's doing.

"I wish I could have done more."

There was a silence.

"May I have permission to go help them?" asked Merlin.

"How are _you_ going to be able to help?" Arthur teased. Merlin nearly laughed. He was very capable of helping with the situation, even if he had to be subtle with his magic.

"I'm going to do whatever I can. It is my home, after all."

"Yes, of course. You have my permission."

As it turned out, he had more than permission. When he left Camelot, he and Sigrun were in the company of Arthur, Gwen, and even Morgana, the king's ward, to whom Gwen was maid. He was touched. Granted, they were all indebted to him in some way or another, but to join him in this was still a token of friendship from all of them, which he cherished dearly. He was not so very alone in Camelot anymore.

Still, it was a great relief to see Will again. He had missed his best friend, and greeted him with a big hug. Will then eyed the three helpers that had come with Merlin.

"So this is what you could get us?" he said jokingly, "Two girls and some pampered fop?"

Merlin smiled sheepishly, hoping that neither Arthur nor Morgana had been listening - the nobles were not used to being joked with like that by commoners.

"Eh, yes," he answered, and then turned to introductions.

"This is my friend William," he explained, "Sigrun's son. Will, this is Lady Morgana, her maid, Guinevere, and prince Arthur."

Will raised his eyebrows, but he thankfully made no comments. He inclined his head in a manner that was respectful enough, but not quite a bow, and remained silent. The four travellers made their temporary home in an empty barn. It would usually have been full of food at this time of the year, but with the bandits extorting the villagers, the supplies were astonishingly low. Arthur summoned the villagers to a meeting, where he addressed them like he did his knights, inspiring a confidence they had long lacked. Only William didn't look particularly happy.

"What the _Hell_?" he asked Merlin when the two of them were alone.

"Leave it, Will, he's not that bad," Merlin replied with a sigh.

"Not that bad, no. He's treating us all like were his disposable little soldiers, sending our friends into battle. This is _not _his fight."

"He wants to help."

"Yes, well, then he can start by not treating us like we're his subjects. He is not our prince on this side of the border."

"That's not your problem with him, Will. You know that. But he is not _like_ Cenred. And he's not like his father."

Will scoffed.

"What does _your_ father have to say about you serving Uther's brat?"

"He's fine about it," Merlin said curtly. His correspondence with his parents had faltered lately. Apparently, Balinor had crossed Cenred's path one time too many. The king feared the Dragonlord and his magic, but not enough to see through his fingers when the man could not resist speaking up against injustice. This did not only make it unlikely that Merlin would get to return to this side of the border, but also increasing the chance that Balinor and Hunith would have to go on the run again. He didn't know where they would go, or if they had already left, in a hurry, without being able to write to him or Gaius about it.

"Fine," Will said sceptically, back in the present, "Well, if you say so. But it's not like you, Merlin, to grovel like this. Why are you going to such great lengths defending your employer?"

"He's not just my employer, he's my _friend_," Merlin insisted.

"Some friend he can be when you know he wouldn't hesitate to lay your head on the block if he finds out who you really are."

Merlin wasn't entirely sure that was true, but he couldn't argue with it. He did still keep his magic and his true identity a secret.

"You don't know him," he said tiredly, "He is a good man. I'm not saying he doesn't have faults, by all means, I know more about them than most. But I believe in him, Will. He is destined to be a great king, to bring peace and freedom to everyone, and to let magic return to Camelot. And if you don't believe in destinies, then believe me. I would, I already _have_ trusted him with my life. And I wouldn't hesitate to risk mine if it kept him safe."

Will said nothing for a while, just looked at him as if he were searching Merlin's face for something. Then he looked to the ground, laughing.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just… How have you kept your magic hidden?"

Merlin furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean?"

"You're terrible at keeping secrets." Without explaining further, he got up. "Well, it's getting late, you should probably get back to your prince." he said the last word with a certain degree of disdain still, but he seemed to have accepted Merlin's newfound loyalty.

"Merlin?"

It was dark in the barn, and Merlin was sure the girls were already asleep. He himself had been lying awake, though, contemplating all the ways in which this could go wrong. He had known that Arthur wasn't asleep, either - his breathing gave it away.

"Yes?"

"This is where you grew up. But your parents obviously aren't here, otherwise I should think I'd have met them by now, and we'd be staying with them instead of in a barn."

Merlin made a vague noise of confirmation.

"I've met several people who have seemed to dislike me. It appears my father isn't popular here, because usually those who come here from Camelot have been banished and are seeking refuge as they run away."

"Your point being?" Merlin muttered.

Arthur swallowed.

"My point being, I won't ask who or where they are. And my point being that I'm sorry."

Merlin didn't quite know why, but he suddenly felt like crying.

"Thank you," he whispered into the dark of the room.

He could never have imagined the pain of that moment. When it had seemed that everything, against all odds, would end well, when victory and safety was theirs, and there had been so few casualties considering, and then… Then one arrow had cut through his illusion of a happy ending, boring itself into Will's chest. With his last action, he had saved Arthur, and with his last words, he had saved Merlin. And now Merlin had lost him, his oldest friend, the one person who knew him better than anyone. He was staring into the flames that were consuming that stupid, reckless, bitter and infinitely brave boy. Gwen was standing with him, her arms around him, comforting him. He felt very grateful towards her, as he knew it must be difficult for her to stand so close to the pyre. She didn't show a fear of flames explicitly, but bonfires and the likes were something she had tended to avoid since she was very nearly burned at the stake. That had been Merlin's fault, he reminded himself. He'd nearly gotten her killed, and now he _had_ gotten Will killed - he was fairly certain his friend would not have sacrificed himself for the prince if Merlin hadn't convinced him of his worth. Merlin would readily give his own life for Arthurs, but who was he to sacrifice his friends as well?

On the ride home, he hardly spoke at all. He could almost physically feel Arthur's eyes on him. His view of Merlin was bound to be changing. He now believed him to be the child of a family banished from Camelot - that part was true - and the friend of William the sorcerer. That part was so ridiculous to anyone who knew Will that it would have made Merlin laugh, if only he had been capable of any sort of mirth a that moment. He was aware that he was skating on thin ice. How long would it take before Arthur put two and two together? It was a miracle that he'd been able to keep it hidden for so long - as Will had said, he was no good at keeping secrets. Come to think of it, he still had no idea what Will thought he had revealed without meaning to during that conversation. And now he'd never know; he'd never again talk to the friend who knew him better than he knew himself. Again the loss cut him like a knife, and he had to pull himself together for fear of crying where he rode.


	6. The End of an Era

The Questing Beast was not the first omen of bad luck that Merlin saw leading up to the end of his stay in Camelot. To him, it all started with the sight of a man called Garvan, whom he recognised immediately as one of king Cenred's personal bodyguards. The moment he saw him in the crowd, Merlin froze. He damned himself for the reaction, because the fear on his face must have jogged Garvan's memory. He didn't quite seem to be able to identify the boy, but his face betrayed a vague recognition in the few seconds they had eye contact. It would be best, Merlin thought, if their paths never crossed again. Garvan had been one of the guards protecting the king on that dreadful occasion with the vegetables, and Merlin was fairly sure he was one of those who had identified him as the Dragonlord's son. He had run into the man enough times to learn his name, after all. It had been well over a year since he had fled to Camelot, but Garvan might still remember him, and if he were to tell the king that he had seen a known sorcerer, the son of one of Uther's sworn enemies, roaming the city streets… Well, Merlin would be knee deep in trouble once again.

The reason for the man's presence in Camelot, he soon found out, was as part of a delegation representing Cenred, come to discuss a border dispute that had arisen on the southern side of the forests. It was not grave enough that the kings would meet each other in person, but it was cause to quite some controversy around the castle. Who owned what land and the details of where which border would be drawn were matters that hardly interested Merlin unless he knew how people were directly affected. In the forests, though, no-one lived but the druids, and to them it made little difference which king made a claim to the land. They were unwanted by Cenred and Uther alike. Come to think of it, it was not quite true that the druids were the only ones living in the forests, outside the rule of kings. Merlin could think of at least two people very close to him who were hiding out in some cave, the exact location of which he was not allowed to know. His heart clenched at the mere thought of their situation. It was unlikely, however, that his parents would be anywhere near the disputed region. As it was, the matter that brought Cenred's representatives to court was purely based on petty politics and power play. It was their presence itself, not the cause, that was Merlin's problem.

For once, he was actually glad to be going hunting. Off with Arthur in the forest, at least there was no risk of running into Cenred's henchman. When the hunt was cut disastrously short, things only got worse. The council met in distress over Sir Bedivere's death, and the feeling was ominous. Gaius seemed gravely worried over the Questing Beast's appearance, and Merlin was determined to learn as much as he could about it before Arthur set out to kill it - with all probability, he would have to covertly assist that mission quite heavily. As quickly as he could, he took off to get to Gaius's chambers and his thick books detailing the creatures of the Old Religion. He didn't get far. The moment he entered an empty corridor on his way, he was slammed brutally into a wall.

"You're the dragon brat," a gruff voice smugly informed him, dangerously close to his ear. His shoulder hurt in Garvan's grip, pressed up against the hard stone behind him. He wanted to blast him away with magic, but he didn't dare. If Garvan was going to expose him, he wouldn't waste time threatening him. He was planning to blackmail Merlin, but if he fought him, he might change his mind. So Merlin remained still, but shaking.

"Yes, you are," the Essetir guard continued when Merlin didn't answer, "The little prankster. My lord and master's been wanting to see you. 'Course, probably a good thing that you got away when you did. If you hadn't, you'd be dead now, and this wouldn't be half as good an opportunity to get leverage on that daddy of yours…"

Merlin struggled when Garvan brought up Balinor. This was a man who knew how to threaten; his words hit home.

"What do you want?" Merlin spat.

As punishment for fighting back, Garvan slammed the boy into the wall again, pressing his lower arm into Merlin's throat - remembering what he'd learned of the physician's art since working for Gaius, Merlin observed that the bone that was strangling him painfully was Garvan's _radius_.

"Very clever. To the point," Garvan hissed back, his rotten breath making Merlin's stomach turn, "Yes, I could easily rip your guts out here and now and never receive repercussions. But there are things that you can do for me. Mainly, speed matters up a bit. We've been put on hold over this whole monster business, and I don't like it. But your king doesn't seem to want to listen to anyone before it's over."

Merlin had difficulty breathing, let alone talking, but he managed to express his confusion as to how he was supposed to influence the king's priorities.

"Well, you had better _figure out a way_," Garvan said brusquely as he let him go. The force he had used had nearly lifted Merlin off his feet, and now that it was gone, the boy fell to the ground, clutching his throat and gasping for air.

"The dispute better be settled, and in Cenred's favour, by sundown tomorrow, if you want to keep that little secret of yours."

With that he was off, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall. Merlin got to his feet and scurried off. Now it was even more important that he got his research done - the quicker they were able to deal with the Questing Beast, the more likely it was that Garvan got his way. Of course, that was no guarantee that Merlin was safe, he didn't believe this brute would be true to his word, but it would buy him some time to figure out what to do.

By the time the next sundown drew near, he was beyond caring about the matter altogether.

It was a secret that she didn't entirely know of herself, but the lady Morgana was developing into a powerful Seer, and when she ran screaming to stop Arthur from going on the hunt, Merlin knew that it was more than just sisterly concern. It was a true premonition. Sure enough, though Merlin succeeded in killing the beast, Arthur was injured. And he was dying. Kilgharrah was crystal clear on the issue. Merlin must go to the Isle of the Blessed, where Gaius was convinced he would meet nothing but death. But he didn't have to think twice about the decision. Sacrificing himself to save the prince was second nature to him by now. By his sickbed before he left, he stood silently, watching Arthur's laboured breathing and pained face. He reached out a hand and pushed one sweaty lock of hair off his forehead. Arthur seemed to relax at the touch, and what Merlin regretted the most was the fact that he would have no real chance to say goodbye. He had grown attached to this royal prat, in spite of everything. As he made his way out of the castle, he ran straight into Garvan, who was livid.

"One more day, please," Merlin begged. He could not care less about the border dispute nor of his exposition now, but he had no time to waste being threatened or disembowelled. Apparently satisfied, by Merlin's desperate plea, that his victim was sufficiently intimidated to be sincere, Garvan nodded intimidatingly.

"_One_ more day," he conceded, "But no more… Extensions."

And so Merlin travelled to the Isle of the Blessed. He faced the ancient witch Nimueh, he laid down his life in exchange for Arthur's, and all was well as he returned to Cameot. The sacred water he had been given, he gave to Arthur, and as the prince healed, he waited for death to take him. But death didn't come. And Arthur awoke and was alive and well. And death didn't come. What did come was another warning from Morgana. She startled him as she appeared in the hallway, grabbing his arm. For such a renown beauty, she looked truly dreadful. She was paler than usual, and her eyes were wild as she desperately clasped his wrist, telling him,

"It will only get worse. This is just the beginning."

He didn't know what to say to her. He believed her, of course. And her words sparked a feeling of dread that he could not shake.

He was uncharacteristically silent as he ate with Gaius, and his guardian made no attempt to push him into speech, which he was grateful for. As they cleared the plates, Merlin's cup of water fell over, as if knocked over by an invisible hand. The puddle of water produced was much too circular and reflective to be natural, so he knew at once that magic was involved. He looked at Gaius, bewildered, but he seemed just as baffled as Merlin. The source of the enchantment became obvious quite quickly, though, and it surprised them both. From the deep darkness that had spread through the puddle, Balinor's face emerged.

"Dad!" Merlin exclaimed.

"Hello, Merlin," his father said gravely, "It's good to see your face."

"And yours," he replied, his voice shaking. This kind of long distance scrying was very powerful magic which he had never seen Balinor perform before. He would not make the effort unless it was absolutely vital. "What's wrong?" he asked with dread.

Balinor sighed.

"It's your mother," he explained, "She has fallen ill. She was fine until this morning, but now she is weaker than I have ever seen her. The sickness is like nothing I have ever seen - It's taking her, and I don't know how to stop it. It must be magic that is causing it, but it is not a spell that I recognise. If anyone can save her, it is not me. I know no better healer than Gaius, and I know no magic stronger than yours, my son."

Merlin felt the blood drain from his face as Balinor spoke. His trade of lives was the reason, he knew it. Nimueh had betrayed him and aimed to take his mother's life in lace of his own. There was no way he was going to allow it. He had to go back. But before he could, this time he would say his goodbyes.

Arthur was the most difficult one. The previous night, when he had last thought that he would die, he had lamented not being able to say a proper farewell, but now he stood there, not quite knowing what to say. He stumbled around the topic for a few moments, and Arthur inevitably picked up on the underlying farewell in his words.

"If this is you trying to leave your job…"

"No. I'm happy to be your servant, to the day I die."

The look in Arthur's eyes was strange, sad and pensive. It threw Merlin. He tried his best to say everything he wanted to say, but the most he could do was to tell Arthur to listen. His last words were, ridiculously, "Don't be a prat."

And he knew they would be his last words to Arthur, because even if, by some miracle, he should survive to see another morning, his identity was soon to be revealed courtesy of Garvan.

Arthur woke up the following morning with no manservant to serve him, which felt entirely wrong but oddly unsurprising, given Merlin's words on the previous night. Soon he was informed of the accusations towards his servant. They were absolutely ridiculous, in his opinion, and he raged against his father's choice to hear the word of another king's lackey - on top of that a servant of Cenred, who had never been a friend of Camelot - over that of his own trusted servant. But Merlin was gone, there was no question about that - he had disappeared at some point during the night, and even Gaius claimed to have no idea where he had gotten to. The old physician seemed tired and worn, probably with grief and betrayal. Arthur felt those emotions as well. Mostly, though, he felt completely and utterly lost.


	7. Inexplicable Longing

It was absurd how much Arthur managed to miss Merlin. Yes, they had worked close together for a good while, and they had, he felt, been quite close to becoming friends, but he shouldn't be feeling this prolonged sense of loss. It was not normal. He was just a servant, after all.

Well, actually, he was not just a servant, and that was exactly what the problem was. He was a sorcerer, there was evidence enough that there was no doubt left. Not only was he a sorcerer, but he was the son of the Dragonlord Balinor, who had helped Uther capture the Great Dragon that dwelled in the caves under the castle. Uther believed that Merlin might very well have consulted and conspired with the dragon. They had tried to question the beast, but it had threatened fire and flown away; there was a reason why Uther had needed help subduing it in the first place. Arthur knew little of Dragonlords, they were druids, he thought, a rare family with some sort of dragon related skill set that certainly came in handy. They were also sly and not to be trusted, and of course, they were powerful magic users. The latter might have something very significant to do with the fact that Uther insisted that the former was true. He had many a complicated theory about Merlin's plot to somehow overthrow him and bring magic and chaos and death back to Camelot. He was ashamed, it seemed, to have had an enemy working in the castle, and so close to his only son! He was convinced, of course, that Merlin must have cast some spell on him that day when he saved Arthur's life, in order to achieve a position in the royal household. The idea seemed ridiculous to Arthur, who knew how Merlin loathed his position to begin with. Towards the end, that might have changed… "I am happy to be your servant," he had said, and said again a million times since, inside Arthur's head.

Gaius was of course completely forgiven, as he always seemed to be. It was lucky, really, that Uther held him in such regard. If he had been treated the same as everyone else, there was many a crisis they would not have made it out of without his great knowledge. Merlin had been the child of one of Gaius's old friends, and Uther found it surprisingly easy to believe that hid physician had no idea that the boy's mother had been in union with the Dragonlord. Gaius had acted 'in good faith', apparently, and Arthur was relieved that this was the verdict. The old man had lived in the castle as long as he'd been alive, and long before that, and he wouldn't have liked losing him as well. Obviously he must have known, Arthur reasoned. Even he kew that Merlin's parents were no friends of the king, though he had kept well clear of the subject ever since that journey to Ealdor. Perhaps he had always feared that he would find out something like this, the truth, that Merlin was a traitor, a dangerous sorcerer, his enemy…

No, he still couldn't wrap his head around it. He knew it to be true, the facts were all there, and he acknowledged them, he _knew_ that it was the way things were, he understood it… But he had also come to terms with he fact that he would never fully _believe_ it. He couldn't see Merlin as a traitor. During that last conversation, which he had recounted so many times in his head, Merlin had seemed so grave, so genuine. It had been his goodbye, he had realised quite soon after. If Merlin had taken time to say goodbye to Arthur before running away, then he must care for him, mustn't he? And what kind of a traitor finds it in himself to _care_ for the enemy he is infiltrating? Merlin wasn't a good enough actor to be secretly evil behind all that well-meaning folly. And even if he were a sorcerer, or an enemy, a druid or a Dragonlord or whatever the Hell he was, the one thing that truly irked Arthur about Merlin was that he was _not there_.

He had tried asking Gaius about Merlin's whereabouts, assuring him that he meant no harm. He wasn't sure he was believed, and Gaius confirmed only that Merlin was alive. Even though the idea that he might be dead hadn't even crossed Arthur's mind, he felt relieved. He was quite sure Gaius knew more than he let on - he usually did - but he also knew that there was no use in pressing the matter with him. His next idea was to seek out Guinevere, Morgana's maid. He knew that she and Merlin were very close, and perhaps he had let something slip to her. Apparently Merlin had said nothing out of the ordinary, except cryptically stating that she had a good heart which she mustn't lose. The childishly petty part of Arthur's mind remarked that that made for a slightly better goodbye than "Don't be a prat," but he could understand what Merlin meant. From the little time he'd spent with Gwen, he could see why Merlin liked her, and he would always associate the two with each other. She, too, had a way of making him question himself, like he was sure his servants shouldn't cause him to.

He had given up trying to find Merlin. There were other things to worry about, life went on, he couldn't keep wondering about where his old servant was. He did, of course, keep wondering, but he tried to suppress it as it was a useless train of thought that only led to frustration. He went about his duties, he tried to settle with a new manservant, which was easier said than done. After some confusing events, his first substitute died a peculiar death. The second man he hired for the job simply disappeared after a few days. It was only on the third attempt that he found someone competent who could last a week in his service, even if the man was remarkably dull. Arthur was sure he would think so even if he hadn't grown used to, no, _fond_ of, Merlin's insubordinate and chatty behaviour. There was no reason to deny it to himself now, he had been a friend first and a servant second. Even though the two roles seemed to merge in an odd way with Merlin. He could easily manage, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, to be both friend and servant and sorcerer, and…

And a traitor. But a traitor could be forgiven. In fact, the ceremony for forgiveness of traitors was something Arthur had associated with Merlin from the very beginning of their acquaintance. It was an image that had appeared in his mind regularly, and now that Merlin was gone, even more so. Maybe one day he would meet Merlin again, and forgive him, for all the world to see, for being born into a family that was shunned in Camelot. As far as Arthur was concerned, there was not much to forgive - any crime that Merlin had committed in lying about his identity, in using magic, Arthur had forgiven it long ago now. What he longed for was a chance to _tell_ Merlin of his forgiveness. And maybe to ask for some forgiveness of his own. He had never been quite as strict as Uther when it came to magic, but he had always stood by the belief that it was, in general, an evil and dangerous force. Among the royals, it was Morgana who was most likely to let her soft heart urge her to stand up for those who were arrested for sorcery, and Arthur rarely paid her complaints much heed. Now, though… If Merlin were caught, he didn't know what he would do. He feared the possibility. If it were within his power, he would let no harm come to him. He would much prefer a future where he never saw Merlin again - though every day that was a reality he grew wearier of - than one where he would have to see him beheaded or burned.

This fear began to manifest itself in his dreams. Whenever he had a bad dream, there was an execution involved, and he'd see Merlin's face. Actually, whenever he had a good dream, Merlin was likely to be there, too. Increasingly, no matter what the dream, Merlin was always there in some capacity. He was supposed to fade, Arthur told himself. The longer it had been since he saw someone, they should appear in his mind _less_, not _more_. It had been months now since he'd seen Merlin, yet it felt somehow as if he were still there.

"I'm happy to be your servant, to the day I die."

Was there some sort of magic involved? Arthur contemplated the possibility. Perhaps Merlin had enchanted him to gain an ally at court? There was no way of knowing for sure, but he truly believed he was not under any spell. He simply missed Merlin, and missed him terribly.

He did not show it. Those close to the prince knew that the ordeal had upset him at the time, of course, but to the outside world it seemed that he had gotten over it. He went about his daily life, trained his men and took great enjoyment in it even if his favourite punching bag was unavailable. He attended council meetings and his contributions impressed the court and made his father proud. He continued to patrol with the guard, whether off to the outskirts of the kingdom or within Camelot. And of course, he still loved hunting. He had always been terribly annoyed with Merlin's incessant complaints and commentary on these trips, and now he tried his best to remember that fact. It had been _annoying_ to have him there, he did _not_ miss it, and there was nothing melancholic about a successfully stealthy hunt with no clumsy idiot messing things up.

That autumn, the woods of Camelot were still virtually crowding with deer. This was a good season indeed, though it had also been rife with trouble, the Questing Beast appearing at the start and bandit attacks escalating in comparison with previous years. It appeared that many poachers and other criminals were also interested in the prey that by rights belonged to Uther Pendragon and his men. But that did not bother Arthur much - he was a knight, was he not? And so were his fellow huntsmen. If they did suffer a bandit attack, more often than not it only provided some extra excitement on the trip. One crisp day, as a fine doe he had been aiming for was scared up and ran away, it appeared that this was going to be one of those times. Sure enough, he soon crossed swords with a ragged looking man whose face was marred by many scars so hideous Arthur nearly felt sorry for him. He wondered which had come first, his ugliness or his banditry. Soon enough, though, he had dispatched the man and thought of him no further. The battle went well, nearly too well, until he heard sir Leon call out in fear for him to watch out. He spun around to face one of the bandits who had snuck up on him, and he realised immediately that he hadn't a chance, he couldn't get his sword high enough in time, and a large axe was bearing down on him -

With the axe an inch from his head, and his heart convinced that he was about to die, the action was cut short. His would-be killer was suddenly lifted several feet into the air before he was thrown backwards violently and crashed into a tree several yards away. Arthur caught a glimpse of something disappearing into the trees not far away. A quick look at his knights revealed that none of them had seen it, though they were all aware that magic had ended the fight, and alert to find the source. Arthur signalled for them to split up and search the area, making sure he was the only one who would be going in the right direction.

He caught up with Merlin at the side of a large, mossy rock, grabbing him by the arm and nearly causing them both to fall over.

"Stop," he called breathlessly, but not to loud, lest the rest of his party might hear, "Wait!"

He spun him around and it was as if he'd walked into one of his dreams, but better, because Merlin was _there_, he was real. He was real, and he was afraid, Arthur realised. He was looking at him with uncertainty and terror.

"I'm not going to turn you in," Arthur explained, outraged that Merlin would expect such a thing, "Of course I'm not. You saved my life."

As Merlin relaxed, he added, "Again. Why did you do that?"

Merlin smiled now. "I told you," he said, and hearing his voice filled Arthur with an embarrassing amount of glee, "I'm still your servant. I was destined to protect you. I'll always be… Yours."

He looked a little puzzled, as if that was not what he'd expected himself to say. There was no time to dwell on it, because right then Arthur heard a loud noise and reacted by pressing himself to the rock, dragging Merlin with him to hide in case it were one of the knights come close. He needn't have worried - the noise had been made by a grouse that had been scared up and flew away. His hunter's eye had not spotted it; the ones hanging over his shoulder had not been so lucky.

"I see you carry your own kill nowadays," Merlin commented, noticing the dead grouse dangling between them.

"Yes," Arthur replied. They both descended into hushed laughter.

"I missed you," Arthur confessed.

"I was never gone. I'm always there, Arthur, just out of sight." He smiled that infuriating little smile that meant he was either hiding something or believed himself to be ver clever. "I'm looking out for you."

"With magic."

There was a pause. They were still standing close together, but Merlin was staring at the ground.

"I could no more live without magic," he said eventually, and lifted up one of Arthur's grouse, "Than these could live without flying. Not that it saved _them_," he observed, letting the dead bird drop again. Arthur felt a cold chill at the glum comparison. He laid his hand on Merlin's shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he said firmly.

Then he drew Merlin close, and kissed him. The idea had not occurred to him on a conscious level before he realised it was what he was about to do, but once their lips met, it seemed entirely obvious. For a moment he wondered if one of his dreams had taken an unexpected but startlingly realistic turn. Well, it didn't feel like a dream, but it wasn't anything like reality either, as if the kiss crated a whole new state of being. Merlin's lips were soft, but the stubble around them rough. It was an odd feeling, letting his lips and his tongue touch against another man's stubble, almost unpleasant, but thoroughly enjoyable. He felt as if he were melting, as if they were the metal in a blacksmith's forge, merging into one being. He felt Merlin clinging to him, a hand tangled in his hair. He felt the side of his shirt dampen, pressed up against the moss which had held on to the water of a slight drizzle earlier that afternoon, and he wondered why the water did not immediately evaporate in the all-encompassing heat.

The kiss seemed to last forever, expressing all the desolation and longing that had been building within him since that damned night when Merlin had walked out of his life leaving very little in the way of explanation. All his fears, all his shame. And the passion was returned. Then Merlin's mouth broke away, though he kept his forehead pressed up against Arthur's. Arthur could feel him heaving for breath. The hand that had been in Arthur's hair had moved to his cheek, stroking an absent-minded finger up and down his jaw.

"You," Merlin said at last, a hoarse whisper, then he swallowed and regained his voice, "You have to get back to your pack before they miss you."

"Will I see you again?" Arthur asked, the words escaping his mouth before he had time to conceal the fear in his voice that the answer might be no.

"Yes," Merlin answered immediately, then his face shifted, and he added in a more uncertain tone, "I hope so."

The sorcerer's hand left Arthur's face and rested on the rock beside them.

"_Fýrdraca_," he muttered, then something happened to his eyes, and out of the rock he plucked a small shape which he placed in Arthur's hand. It was a piece of rock, glowing warm, in the perfect shape of the dragon in the Pendragon crest. Merlin placed a soft kiss on Arthur's cheek, and by the time he looked up from the gift in his hand, he was already out of sight.

Arthur placed the dragon on his bedside table. To the untrained eye it looked like a regular decoration, but the detail was too accurate for a human stone carver's abilities, and its warmth never abated.


	8. The Caves

Merlin was in a slight daze for the rest of the day. He couldn't shake that stupidly elated feeling. It a residue of Arthur, of having him close, of holding him, kissing him, being with him. Was this part of their destiny? Was it foretold, the way his heart quivered every time he caught sight of his prince, the way he constantly intruded on his thoughts? Kilgharrah had said that they were two sides of the same coin, two halves of a whole, but he hadn't mentioned any kissing. Then again, he was a dragon. As far as Merlin knew, dragons didn't exactly kiss very much, and though they tended to understand human behaviour, sometimes better than the humans in question, the concept was perhaps not one they deemed important. Perhaps he _was_ destined to fall in love with Arthur. The notion was slightly strange, but tantalising. Was he _in love_ with Arthur?

Of course he was. He had been for a very long time, though he hadn't realised it properly until he was watching him from afar. How beautiful he was, and how he missed being _noticed_ by him, talking to him, quibbling with him and laughing at him. In moments of great weakness he even missed the incessant shouting and the objects that so often came flying in his direction whenever he got cheeky or wasn't doing his job well enough. At those times, Merlin would shake his head and tell himself to get a grip. There was no use sitting around daydreaming about Arthur, not when there were things to do, and a real Arthur to keep safe.

Now, when Arthur's reciprocation was made clear, Merlin was over the moon. He hadn't allowed himself to hope that he would be able to speak to Arthur again, let alone that if he did, he would receive anything but anger. Their budding friendship was a thing he had considered lost, and the idea that Arthur might be harbouring similar feelings to his own was simply absurd.

There was only one moment when he had allowed himself to hope.

He had seen himself forced to sneak into the prince's room at night in order to lay out a few protective spells which he deemed necessary now that he couldn't frequent the chambers like he used to. He was careful to be as quiet as possible, since the spell needed to be performed with Arthur in the room. Once everything was in place and the enchantment felt strong, he allowed himself one moment to watch Arthur sleep. It was rare that he had an opportunity to be so close to him, and he relished it. The sleeping prince lying there, right in front of him, illuminated by the moonlight. His golden hair was fanned out on the pillow, and his face was at rest. Merlin marvelled at the curve of Arthur's nose, and the little sleepy smile that played on his thin, red lips, betraying the presence of a pleasant dream. How long he stood there just watching, he didn't know, but he was awoken from his trance when Arthur rolled over, and the mumbled word that escaped his lips sounded so much like Merlin's name that his breath hitched. The muffled nature of sleep talk ensured he didn't know exactly what Arthur had said, but the tone had been so soft, so full of affection, that he couldn't help himself imagining a tortured 'what if' as he hurried out of the castle, having lingered for just a moment more than he should have.

Now, though… Even if it was completely nonverbal, the kiss had certainly clarified many things. It struck him as quite possible that Arthur might in fact have been dreaming of him that night, just as he knew he was going to dream about Arthur's embrace, and the feeling of his lips against his own, even more so now that he could _recall_ them and not just guess at how it would feel. He closed his eyes and smiled, allowing himself one more sigh before he pulled himself together. The encounter with the hunters had been a wake up call in more than one way. The illumination in regards to their mutual feelings for each other was very pleasing, less so was the realisation that he was getting reckless, and had almost gotten caught. Actually, he _had_ gotten caught, and it was only luck that it was Arthur that had apprehended him and not someone else. The bandit attack had been a greater challenge than he thought it would be, and he hadn't seen the man with the axe until his weapon was nearly embedded in Arthur's skull. The thought made him cringe. He had risked losing Arthur, and then he had risked exposing himself. He knew the knights had recognised the incident as magical - he always said they were thick, but not even they were that unobservant.

He would have to remember to be more attentive, and that he was not invisible, in spite of his successful subtlety so far. He would be no good to anyone dead, not to Arthur, nor to his parents.

Since Merlin had found his own dwelling in a small cave in the forest not far from the city, a place which he had shaped to his needs with magic, communication with Hunith and Balinor had picked up. Hunith had come across a young raven one day, and used the skill she had from growing up around aminals at the farms of Ealdor - though her own family had never owned anything but a cat, she had helped others out just like every other youth in the village - to domesticate it. Balinor's experience was sparse when it came to anything but dragons, but he insisted that he could be of help in training the bird as well. It was a flying beast after all, and ravens were well known to be among the most magical of birds, hence their association with druids as helpers and messengers. A messenger raven is what theirs became, with Hunith's kind, caring hands and a few whispered words of magic from Balinor.

The two of them had reacted with terror at the news of Merlin's discovery and disappearance from Camelot. The news would have taken months to reach them had it not been for Gaius's experience in communicating with those banished. A little touch of the magic he so rarely practiced saw a simple but obscure spell aid a letter in finding the cavern in which they dwelled, too cautious to live openly among other people. It had been a lonely existence, and they missed their old lives, being able to work, to help. They were both charitable and sociable by nature, though Balinor was more used to both independence and solitude. The isolation had been hard to get used to, and sometimes it had strained their relationship, but mostly they were grateful that they at least had each other. The absence of their son, however, brought them down. They worried over him constantly, and when word came from Gaius, they were relieved to know he was alive, but to have him banished from another kingdom shook them. That he too had had his existence uprooted was a heavy knowledge to carry.

But the fact that Merlin was no longer in Camelot did make communication with him easier. Ofost, their raven, named for a word often used in spells to bring about great speed, was ready to take messages, and Hunith sent the first one off only a few days after they heard of Merlin's new exile. She prayed for his safe return with word from her son, and sure enough, it took little over a day before she had a letter in reply.

Through this mode of communication, they learned a lot about Merlin's current life, and were able to tell him of their own. The sparse dealings with the locals in a nearby village, the occasions on which they encountered travelling Druids and offered them shelter. Those times were a highlight for both of them, though it was not always easy. Merlin loved hearing of their life, and quickly grew fond of Ofost, discovering the bird's love of elderberries and the spot on the back of his head where he liked to be scratched, like a cat. It was nice to be a family again, albeit at a distance. Hunith and Balinor suggested that Merlin come to them, since he was condemned to living in a cave anyway and might as well be with those who lived him, but he insisted on staying in the kingdom of Camelot. There, he could be close to Arthur, and he insisted that it was his first duty to protect the prince.

_I know it is difficult to understand, _he wrote, _but it is my destiny. Kilgharrah told me of it, and my heart has confirmed its truth. Arthur is our only chance of bringing magic back to Camelot without war and vengeance that would damage more than it would help. You know as well as anyone how dark magic can cause ruin. I'll be careful, I promise._

_I love you,_

_Merlin._

It was a great comfort to him to be able to ask them for advice on matters, whether concerning magic, of which Balinor had a slightly different breed of knowledge than Gaius, or practical questions of life, which Hunith was always ready to councel him on. He hadn't detailed the nature of his feelings for Arthur to them - he really didn't think it was necessary, and it would only complicate things.

Two whole days passed after the incident with the hunt before Arthur came to seek Merlin out. He had placed several spells on the castle that acted as alarms, some of which were there to tell him if Arthur was leaving Camelot. Usually that meant that he'd have to follow and keep watch, protecting him against threats, but this time he knew that Arthur was coming for him. He could almost feel him searching. He found Arthur standing some way into the forest, having dismounted his horse, looking around with uncertainty. The prince hesitantly called out,

"Merlin?"

Merlin almost laughed. The nerve he had to expect that all he had to do was go into the forest, and Merlin would follow him and find him. Then again, presumptuous or not, it was the truth. He emerged from the trees quietly. At the rustle of branches, Arthur turned towards him, and his face broke into a smile so wide and beautiful that for a moment, nothing but that smile existed.

"Arthur."

"I knew you'd find me."

"And if I hadn't? It's hardly wise for a price to ride out on his own, unguarded."

"You have no faith in me at all, do you?" Arthur accused with a smirk.

"I have every faith in you."

Arthur averted his eyes for a moment.

"We need to talk," he said.

Merlin nodded.

"Come," he said simply, and then lead the way further into the forest.

Arthur wasn't sure exactly when he lost track of where they were going. He could have sworn he knew these woods as well as the back of his own hand, but the time they were in the clearing in front of Merlin's cave, he was certain he would not be able to find the place again on his own. It was magic, of course, employed to protect Merlin's home. It stung him a little that he still felt he had to protect himself against Arthur, but there was nothing he could do about that at the moment. The clearing didn't feel like it was part of Camelot, or even in the same world. Magic was to blame for that, no doubt.

"This is where you live now?" he asked, as if there was any doubt.

"Yes. It's far enough away to be reasonably safe, but close enough to protect you."

As he spoke, Merlin was running his fingers along the trunks of trees, tracing their knots and patterns, possibly working some kind of magic even now.

"Why do you keep insisting that I can't protect _myself_?"

"Really, Arthur," said Merlin and turned around. He froze for a moment, apparently not aware of how close behind him Arthur had been. When he spoke again, he was smirking.

"Do you have any _idea_ how many times I've had to save your skin?"

"No, I don't, actually."

Merlin drew a deep breath.

"Even before I left, I had saved you from being stabbed, poisoned, bitten by snakes, sacrificed to Sidhe elders - "

"To what, now?"

"Sidhe elders. They're a kind of faerie. Remember Sophia, that girl you were trying to elope with?"

Arthur's cheeks reddened, he was still ashamed of his folly on that occasion.

"Yes?"

"She was a Sidhe, who enchanted you and nearly drowned you in a lake."

"Really?" Arthur said, intrigued and slightly disturbed by this new information. "What did you do?"

Merlin looked at his hands, which were writhing.

"I killed her," he said lightly, as if having performed that action did not bother him at all.

"Oh," said Arthur, slightly taken aback. Then he accused with a smile, "Jealous."

Merlin laughed, a pleasant sound like the clucking of a brook.

"My _point_ is," he eventually said, "You'd be dead a dozen times over if I hadn't sworn to protect you."

"Sworn?" Arthur's brow furrowed. "Sworn to whom?"

Merlin sighed. This was a potentially contentious point.

"To Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon," he admitted, seeing no reason to lie now.

"So you _have_ been in contact with it!"

"With _him_," Merlin corrected, "And he is not as great an enemy of yours as you suppose. He told me your destiny and mine, and they are intertwined." As were their fingers now, he noticed. He wondered briefly when that had happened. "You are to be the king who brings peace back to Camelot."

"Camelot _is_ peaceful," Arthur claimed, but even he didn't sound convinced.

"Not for everyone," Merlin said, and let go of Arthur's hand. "Not for me."

Producing two wooden cups from beneath a mossy stump and filling them with water from a small spring beside the cave, he continued.

"Besides, that is not all. If his prophecies are correct, you stand to unite all of Albion one day. Somehow, your coming will unite the good kings and queens of these lands, and end the reign of… Certain _others_."

He mentioned no names, but that he was thinking of Cenred was quite obvious. Handing a cup to Arthur, he commented,

"I suppose it may not be wise to tell you all of this. But I've no reason to think you will even believe it. Drink, you must be thirsty."

"I believe that _you_ believe it," Arthur answered thoughtfully, "But I also believe that dragons are not to be trusted."

"Do you mean to teach _me_ about dragons?"

"I suppose not."

Merlin sat down, leaning against the trunk of an old oak. He closed his eyes contently. Arthur came to sit beside him, watching him silently. Merlin was aware of it, of course, and after a small while, he opened one eye and raised his eyebrows.

"So," said Arthur, "That's where your loyalty lies, then, with the Dragon?"

"Well, he is my kin, in a way. But no. There are things that Kilgharrah has said that I've… Disregarded." He thought of the dragon's inexplicable hatred for Morgana, and his paranoid claims against the young druid boy they had rescued from execution. "I know I cannot trust him fully. After all, yours was not the only of our fathers to have a hand in his imprisonment." He leaned his head on Arthur's shoulder. "Yet he seems to believe in our destiny."

Arthur raised his hand to Merlin's face and ran his hand across his cheek.

"Our destiny," he repeated. Merlin leaned his head into the caress, closing his eyes again. Arthur was certain the serene satisfaction on the face in is hand made the depths of his soul smile. Then Merlin looked up.

"You haven't kissed me yet," he observed.

"Is that part of destiny, too?" Arthur teased. Merlin snorted and head-butted Arthur's shoulder.

"I don't know. I was rather hoping you'd do it anyway."

Arthur chuckled, and the look on his face was positively malicious. He took Merlin's hand and lifted it to his mouth. He kissed his knuckles one by one, then he leaned his head close to Merlins. Instead of kissing his mouth, however, he twisted around and kissed him behind the ear. Then he kissed his forehead, his chin, he even leaned down and pushed Merlin's scarf aside in order to kiss his collarbone. Merlin gasped in surprise. Then, finally, Arthur kissed him on the lips. The kiss was soft and sweet, and entirely different from the one they had shared days before. It was calmer, and a whole different kind of bliss.

Everything about the cave and the clearing it was in was all touched by Merlin's magic. Arthur wondered, as he kissed the sorcerer goodbye after staying maybe a little bit longer than he had intended, how he had gone so long without realising that his servant had magic. The magic in Merlin's home was like a physical presence, prickling his skin, and it and Merlin were one and the same. It was as if Merlin was part of the air itself, he felt himself surrounded by him, breathing him into his lungs, wanting to keep him there, keep him part of him. He turned for one last look before he rode off, knowing that he'd find his way home, but not his way back. He wondered how long it would be until the next time they'd meet like this.

If Merlin were to decide, it would have to be quite a while. The prince's absence was sure to have been noticed, and though he undoubtedly had a sufficient excuse at hand, there was a limit to how many times he could leave like that without rousing suspicion. Surely Arthur _could_ see that, but he might not _want _to see it. Merlin, for one, found Arthur's presence intoxicating, and the touch of the prince's skin to his was dangerously addictive. He knew that the affair was one that couldn't last forever, and eventually his feelings would get them both into trouble. Arthur had asked where his loyalties lay, and they lay with him, obviously. For better or worse, so did his heart.


End file.
